


The Devil Went Down to Soho

by levele3



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1990's, Aliases, Benedict Cumberbatch as Lucifer, Canon Compliant, Do not post to another site, Gen, Lucifer makes a pun, Lucifer thinks he's funny, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, One Shot, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Canon, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Slice of Life, Vignette, description of mild injuries, takes place sometime before the end of the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:26:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24489703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levele3/pseuds/levele3
Summary: “Mr. Fell,” the man said in a deep and resonating baritone, and his bow lips quirked into an amused smile, “I am here on behalf of a mutual acquaintance, one Anthony J Crowley.”Crowley finds himself in a tight spot, and is rescued by an unlikely ally.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62





	The Devil Went Down to Soho

**Author's Note:**

> I've only been writing this for months now. Finally happy to post it!

The sign on the shop window most assuredly read “closed” but the knocker was most insistent.

Aziraphale bustled his way through his crowded shop, murmuring, “coming, coming.”

“Yes? May I help you, oh-” Aziraphale wrenched the door open and intended to lay into whomever had disturbed his peace but the sight of an unfamiliar man in a midnight blue dress suit stopped him short.

Aziraphale suddenly found himself staring at the man before him, simply awestruck by his beauty. He was bad at guessing human ages, but if pressed would say the man before him was probably between 35 and 42 years old.

“Mr. Fell,” the man said in a deep and resonating baritone, and his bow lips quirked into an amused smile, “I am here on behalf of a mutual acquaintance, one Anthony J Crowley.”

****

Crowley found himself lifted off the ground, Hastur’s fist rumpling his shirt collar. His back being pressed into the rough brick behind him. The first punch broke his glasses. The lenses shattered and fell to the ground. Crowley tried to wiggle free but Hastur has a good hold on him. Crowley was made for talking his way out of things. When it comes to physical altercations he’s at a disadvantage.

Hastur sneered up at him, and his sulfurous breath made Crowley choke.

“You little worm, yer not fit to wiggle at the feet of the lightbringer,” he spat at Crowley. 

Crowley was too warm by far, Hastur’s natural affinity for fire making his touch burn. The scent of burning clothes and air enter Crowley’s nose and mouth making him cough. Crowley’s feet kick out but miss their targets. 

Ligur and another demon Crowley doesn’t recognize stand behind Hastur, leering and sneering at his discomfort.

Crowley’s not sure what he’s done this time to earn such a visit from a couple of Dukes of Hell, but it can’t have been anything good. Then again maybe it had been? He had been just walking along, minding his own business when the trio had appeared and began harassing him. 

If any of the demons had of been paying attention, they would have noticed the large black limo pull up to the kerb.

As it was, it wasn’t until a long shadow loomed over them, and by then it was too late.

Crowley hit the ground hard as Hastur quickly let him go and the other three demons fell into obeisance’s. His knees ached and the wind was knocked from him. _What the hell?_

Crowley chanced a glance and looked up at the shadow.

“Oh” he exhales.

A man-shaped being of about six feet tall stood above him, sunlight hitting his strawberry-blonde curls from behind and making them glow, like a halo. Lucifer is wearing a suit of midnight blue, flecked with gold. A heavy gold chain hangs about his neck with a stylized golden sun pendant hanging upon it. 

He snaps his fingers, and time stops. 

“Crowley,” Lucifer tutted, “what have they done to you, my poor boy.

He squats and cups Crowley’s cheek in his large palm.

Crowley leans into the touch and closes his eyes like a cat would. The touch is gentle and warm. A pleasant heat radiates from Lucifer’s palm, like the sun coming in through a filtered window. It is the opposite of Hastur’s burning effect. It is addictive.

Lucifer tuts at the ruin of Crowley’s face. There a nasty cut on his brow, and another on his lip. One eye is beginning to swell shut. Lucifer drags his thumb under the afflicted eye and the swelling stops.

One of the trio mocks Lucifer’s coddling of Crowley and the King of Hell’s eyes turn a stormy grey. Crowley didn’t hear what was said, his mind having gone blissfully blank at Lucifer’s attentions.

Lucifer turned his head sharply in the direction of the ill-timed comment, his full pink lips pulled into a sneer and a growl worked its way up his throat.

“Hastur, Ligur, Mephistopheles,” Lucifer said, his deep voice causing the three demons to shiver, “I will deal with you later.”

With a careless snap of his fingers the three demons disappeared. 

Lucifer returned his attention to Crowley, his voice soft and gentle once more.

“Crowley, listen to me, you are my representative here on Earth, can’t have you discorperating on me now, can we?” He offers Crowley a rather cheeky smile before Crowley’s eyes roll back into his head and his corporeal form goes slack. 

****

“Oh!” Aziraphale said, noticing the sleek black limo parked in front of his shop.

“What has the dear boy done now?” Aziraphale asked, unable to mask the growing concern in his voice.

He didn’t know Crowley knew such well connected people as this young man appeared to be. 

“Oh, it wasn’t his fault,” the man said, his lips splitting into a proper smile this time.

"Wrong place, wrong time," he assured, at Aziraphale's look of doubt.

He snapped his fingers and a young black man with an unusual hairstyle hopped out of the driver’s door of the limo to open the back door exposing the slumped, familiar form of the demon Crowley.

Aziraphale brought a hand to his mouth trying to cover his gasp of surprise, a noise that does not go unnoticed. It takes of all his willpower not to run to Crowley’s side. They hadn’t seen each other in years. Not since the early 80’s. It stirs something in Aziraphale’s chest to see Crowley looking so damaged, what could have gotten the better of the demon? Another demon perhaps? Had Crowley gone looking for a fight in a fit of boredom? 

Aziraphale holds the shop door open while the man in the suit lifts and carries Crowley himself, as if it’s no struggle for him. Not that Crowley’s corporeal form should weigh much what with his slight frame. Aziraphale directs the man to the backroom of the shop where he gently lays down Crowley on the sofa there. 

He sees the man back to the main door, his driver already waiting for him, in the limo once more. 

“Thank you, er,” Aziraphale stalls, realising the man never gave his name.

Those perfect bow lips quirk up into a smile once more, and his eyes roll up to the sign above the shop.

“Venus. Mr. Venus,” he said at last.

Aziraphale thanks him properly, shakes the man’s hand.

At last Lucifer is out the door, with one last look back he whispers, “take care of him Aziraphale, I’ll be needing him soon enough.”

“Where to boss?” the imp driver asks, once Lucifer is seated comfortably in the back.

“Home, I should think,” the King of Hell replied.

There was work to be done, after all, evil never sleeps.

****

“Where, where the bloody hell am I?” Crowley asked, rubbing at his eyes as he stirs from unconsciousness. 

It took some moments for the room to come into focus. Crowley eventually recognized it as the back room of Aziraphale’s book shop. He also realised his glasses were missing, leaving his serpent eyes exposed.

“Oh, hello to you to,” Aziraphale greeted. He handed Crowley a lowball glass with two fingers of good Scotch in it.

Crowley frowned at the glass then looked back up at Aziraphale.

“Angel, what am I doing here?” Crowley asked, accepting the glass and downing the contents in one go. 

The last thing he remembered was walking down the street. He had been gluing pennies to the sidewalk when, when, when someone had stopped him? His mind went a little fuzzy trying to recall what had happened. 

“A smart-dressed businessman dropped you off, he said you’d been in a fight. I didn’t realise you had a patron dear.” Aziraphale explained.

“A -a patron?” Crowley stuttered, confused. He miracled up another pair of shades, but didn’t put them on. The night was young and seemed promising.

Aziraphale refilled Crowley’s class before taking a seat in the well-worn chair adjacent to the sofa. 

“Yes, a, let me see, what did he say his name was again? Oh yes, Mr. Venus.” Aziraphale nodded as if this settled the matter.

Crowley wracked his brain for a contact with that name but kept coming up short. The angel and demon drank and chatted all through the night and into the early morning. Twenty years was nothing to them, but it was always nice to catch up with a friend. They made plans to spend new years eve together, the dawn of a new millennium was something to celebrate, after all. 

At some point one of them suggested they sit up on the roof, enjoy the late August warmth.

“Oh, look, there’s Venus,” Crowley said, pointing to the east. 

“Venus?” Aziraphale asked, still mostly drunk.

“Yeah, you know, the morning star,” even as Crowley said the words something clicked into place.

 _Mr. Venus, the morning star, Lucifer_. 

Crowley burst out laughing and it was several minutes before he could breathe again.

He ignored Aziraphale’s repeated asking of “what’s so funny?” in favour of sending a quick thanks to Below.

It would be eight years before Crowley would see Hastur or Ligur again. Almost eight years to the day. This time they would be meeting him in a cemetery. Lucifer had special plans for Crowley after all.


End file.
